


A true story?

by Dominatrix



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: And of course a little fluff, And so much love too, But also comfort, F/M, Soo much hurt in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-16 15:38:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/Dominatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock reveals that there was this very special boy in boarding school who used to beat him up just because he was a know-it-all. He corrected afterwards and said it was all not true, but Joan is just not ready to believe that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A true story?

**Author's Note:**

> Relating to Episode 3 and Sherlock's talk with Adam Kemper. (Great Episode by the way, loved it).  
> Reviews would be very lovely ♥

„There was somebody called Anders Larson, wasn’t there?“

“What?” Sherlock seemed to be highly distracted and deeply lost in his thoughts. Partly because of him being buried in old files, pictures, his notes and other stuff, his eyes floating over the information as if he tried to draw invisible lines. (Joan knew he really did that. He had tried to explain it to her, but she would just not understand it.) But partly also because he did not have sleep for the past few days. Minimum. But it could also be a week, Joan wouldn’t have noticed.

“Back in boarding school. The story you’ve told Adam.”

“And I’ve told you right afterwards that none of it was true.”

“But I don’t believe you.”

He looked up at her, dark shadows below his eyes and deep wrinkles on his forehead. She wanted to reach out her hand and smooth the wrinkles with her thumb, wanted to allow him to let his head rest in the cup of her hand, to let him sleep. Oh, she desired to see him sleep. Not because she had a fetish or something, she had never been _this_ kind of person, but because she wanted to see Sherlock at peace, finally, at some point.

“Why not?”

“Nobody could invent a lie so easily and so complex in such little time. Not even a mastermind like you.”

“You keep underestimating me, Watson. My body can keep up with extreme sleep lack, and my mind can keep up with fascinating lies.”

“But sometimes I think you’re forgetting that I’m not a complete idiot, although I tend to believe that when I’m around you.” She paced through the room, Sherlock’s unsteady gaze on her as she pulled a heavy book out of the shelf. It was more than just a little dusty. “You don’t care for this book, do you?”she asked while leafing through the book.

“Not at all. Why should I? I wouldn’t recognize any of these boys on the street. Well, probably I would, according to development of skull and facial features, but…”

“Here”, said Watson triumphantly and pointed her finger on one of the pages while sitting down next to Holmes, who clearly was too fascinated by her actions to move away.

Her index finger rested on a list of names.

 

_George Kushlet._

_William Kyvern._

_Anders Larson._

“He was real, after all. And I don’t think you picked his name because you found it utterly beautiful. You remembered him, and what he did to you.”

They both sat together in silence, until Sherlock talked again, lower than before, almost mumbling.

“How do you know?”

“I saw this book on the first day I moved in. All other books are more or less clean because you use them often. This one isn’t. You hate to look at it, yet you still have it around you all the time. Probably because you want to remember this in some strange kind of way. And I won’t even try to understand that, and I am perfectly sure that all you told Adam about the brutality which this boy did to you was true…But just tell me one thing.” She hesitated, and she had her reasons for doing so. Because this next sentence would change their relationship from their base, no matter whether Sherlock would or wouldn’t answer.

“The things you said about you being noticed by him and sort of adoring this for that, because he gave you some attention…Were they true, too?”

The silence almost cut her to pieces, only Sherlock’s and her breath disturbed the quietness. Joan had turned off the music right when she entered the room. Sherlock hadn’t noticed. He had been far too lost in his mind.

“Yes. Everything was true.”

Oh God. This was the cruelest thing that Joan had ever heard. She had believed it in the police office, but not completely, because after all, Sherlock was a pretty good liar – bloody brilliant would describe it better – so why shouldn’t he just make up this as well?

 

“Sherlock, I am…so sorry.”

He stopped to rustle with his papers, let them slip through his slender fingers, staring at her face. He seemed to be in want and in need to say something, because he always had something to reply, something to insult, but right now, looking into Joan’s eyes, so merciful and feeling it almost hurt him, he had nothing to say. He just watched her in silent resignation while she laid her arms around his shoulders and pulled him to her chest. His head rested in the curve between her neck and shoulder, his breath was stroking her left collarbone.

“I can hear your heart beat”, he muttered lowly.

“Shhh. Try to sleep. I’m right here”, she replied in a soft voice, running her fingers through his hair very slowly to calm him while her other hand rested on his back, caressing his spine and shoulders.

He was sound asleep after some minutes; Joan could hear it because of his changed breathing pattern. She could have just loosened her grip and lay him down on the floor, a pillow under his head to allow him a little comfort. (Not even a shell bomb would wake him up right now.) But she didn’t.

She did not know why, but for some kind of silly reason she just sat there, keeping her chin rested on his head while the stubbles on his face tickled her skin. It did not bother her at all. Eventually, she fell asleep too; one arm wrapped around him to keep him close, the other hand right in his hair.


End file.
